


Give & Take Ch.20

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 20:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10557106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: It takes courage to admit. It takes more more courage to let another see.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a psychiatrist or psychologist and do not have a medical degree.

                                                                                 Ch. 20 (The Warren Alpert Chronicles P.9)

  
       Warren recognized the signs. Brian was at the end of his proverbial rope and looked as if he wanted to throw something again—which is why he pushed harder. “What are you saying? That your ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t mean anything, that you’re _not_ sorry for whatever you did to Justin last night, that you don’t feel the least bit remorseful?”  
  
      “That's not what I'm saying!” Brian's voice turned brittle and his eyes narrowed. “Let me ask _you_ something, Doc. I’m supposed to tell him I’m sorry? What about him?”  
  
       Now we’re getting somewhere. “I don’t follow. Why should he apologize? He didn’t do anything to you. From what you’ve said or conveniently haven't said, all of this _,_ ” he waved his hand, “is because you did something to hurt _him_.”  
  
**“Love is an act of endless forgiveness.”** P.Ustinov  
  
_Come on, Brian, let it out._ With an exaggerated air of puzzlement, he said, “Don’t you think that’s a bit much to ask, even for you? He didn’t say or do anything. He’s the innocent one in all this, the one who—”  
  
       The composed facade shattered with a fist slammed into the wall. “He was being fucked in the back room of Babylon, for fuck sake! In front of everyone! He wasn't supposed...he wasn't supposed to—"  
  
       Ah ha! There it was, the reason why Brian Kinney did what he did and the reason why he was in his office. Talk about a painful lesson in an unstoppable force meeting an immoveable object.  
  
      “Fuck!” The second punch lacked the steam of the first, as if the previous one had deflated the anger.  
  
      “I don’t think the wall is your enemy,” he stated dryly.  
  
      “Shut the fuck up.” Brian cradled his hand and sank into the chair next to the desk.  
  
      “No, I don’t think I will, ” he said with a hint of a wicked grin. “I have to strike while you’re in a weakened physical state.”  
  
      “Take your show on the road if you want an audience who’ll appreciate you.”  
  
       He eyed the bruised flesh. “Do you need ice?”  
  
       Brian flexed his fingers. “No, I'll live.”  
  
      “I want you to see something. Hang on a sec.” He hastily typed on his computer, printed the page and slid the paper across the polished desktop. “Here.” He leaned back and touched his fingertips together. “See a pattern, Mr. Kinney?”  
  
       Brian scowled as he read the printed words. YOU hurt Justin with YOUR anger because YOU were hurt and YOU felt betrayed when YOU saw him fucking someone else at Babylon.  
  
**“In jealousy, there is more self-love than love.”** F.Rouchefoucauld  
  
     “So, you’re telling me I’m a selfish prick?” He gave a grim snort. “Fuck, I could have told you that at the beginning. Everyone knows, and they never miss an opportunity to tell me, either.”

 **“I wish they would only take me as I am.”** VanGogh  
     “Does Justin?”  
  
     “Does— No, no, he doesn’t.”  
  
     “Why do you think that is?” He quickly intervened at the whooshed exhale. He didn't want or need to get sidetracked by Brian's frustration. “Let me ask you something else. Why were you so angry because someone fucked him? I didn’t realize you guys were monogamous.”  
  
     “We’re not!”  
  
      Hmm, one more issue added to the growing laundry list, one they'd hopefully revisit another time, if there _was_ another time. “Did you feel betrayed because he did it in public?  But,” he paused, “that couldn’t be the reason if you’re not exclusive. Or did you feel humiliated because people saw it and would think Brian Kinney was losing his edge and couldn't keep his younger partner satisfied? Or maybe—” He stood and held up the sheet of paper. “Wow, what a surprise! Here's that pesky pronoun again! Maybe that’s what _you_ think, what has you concerned.”  
  
      He perused his book collection with pretend interest. “You know, if it were anyone other than you, I would say your reaction sounds a lot like jealousy and insecurity. Just my untrained and unprofessional opinion, of course.”  
  
           **“A competent and self-confident person is incapable of jealousy in anything. Jealousy is invariably a symptom of neurotic insecurity.”** R.Heinlein  
  
      He turned around. Sure enough, Brian looked like he wanted to strangle him.  
  
     “We _have_ tricked before, you know.”  
  
     “So both of you have fucked other guys.”  
  
      “Yeah, sort of.”  
  
      “Sort of? I think it’s rather a yes or no, don’t you?” He settled on the sofa and stretched his arms along the back. “Tell you what, I’ll make it easy for you.” He leaned forward with a fixed gaze. “Here’s question number one. Have you tricked without Justin in the past and do you _still_ trick without him? A simple yes or no will suffice, by the way.”  
  
      “What?“  
  
       He sighed dramatically for effect.  “Do I really have to repeat myself?”  
  
      “You’re a shit.”  
  
      “Yeah, I know. Answer my question, please.”  
  
      “By the way, you’ve conveniently strung two questions together.”  
  
       One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Okay, I cheated a little. May I get an answer to my _two_ questions?”  
  
      “Yes, and only occasionally! Happy now?” Brian glared.  
  
      “Question number two. Does he trick without you?”  
  
      “What the fuck?”  
  
      “Come on, Brian. Humor me.”  
  
      “Fine! I’ll play your stupid game of wits! Not really!”  
  
      “Not really? What exactly does that mean?”  
  
      “It means,” Brian spat, “that he only does it when he’s with me because _I_ want to do it."  
  
      “Why is that?”  
  
      “Why is what?”  
  
      “Why doesn’t he trick on his own?”  
  
      “Because....”  
  
       He arched his brow. “Yes?”  
  
      “Shit! Becausehesaysheonlywantsme.”  
  
      “Excuse me?”  
  
       Brian shot a withering glance. “Because he says, he _claims_ he only wants me, that...” he swallowed, “he doesn’t need anyone else.”  
  
      “Just so I understand, other than tricking with you, he’s never cheated?”  
  
      “That's not what I said.”  
  
      “So he has?” Once again, an overpowering silence permeated the office as he waited for the answer. And waited.                                                                                         

                                                                           **Actions speak louder than words...or do they?**

  
       As seconds turned into minutes, he toyed with his Mont Blanc pen. Considering his truculent patient's reluctance to divulge information, the odds weren't in his favor that he'd get an answer.  
  
      “You do know what's said here is privileged, right?” He couldn’t imagine being Brian Kinney. Between the albatross of his past, the weight of his present and the uncertainty of his future, he was surprised the man hadn’t already cracked.  
  
       The thought sent his mind scurrying to his childhood and his grandmother's pressure cooker. He was reminded of his grandmother’s pressure cooker. The essential appliance performed its duties admirably, churning out one delectable meal after another. But on a blustery winter day, in a fit of mechanical rebellion, it exploded and splattered her harvest gold kitchen with shapes and shades of velvety green pea soup that rivaled a Jackson Pollack painting. It had simply decided it had enough. When would this man reach that point?  
  
                                                                                                         * * *  
       Brian glared from the opposite end of the room. “No shit! Thanks for the newsflash.”  
  
       He cursed under his breath, waging an inner battle as fierce as the ones he fought on the outside. How much should he reveal? How much should he put on the line and was it worth it? But he had no choice. Last night's events wouldn't let him cop out.  
  
      “Yeah, he did,” he said in a flat whisper. The words wrapped around his chest like a steel band.  
  
      “How did it make you feel?”  
  
      “How the fuck do you think it made me feel? You’re the expert. You know how I felt!”  
  
      “I probably do, but that’s not going to help you, is it? I want _you_ to tell me, Brian. I want you to say the words. Obviously you were hurt. Obviously you were angry and obviously you felt betrayed. Am I on the right track? Why did he leave? Did you do or say anything that time as well?”

                                                         _“You don’t bring me flowers. You don’t sing me love songs.”_ _©N.Diamond_

       He didn’t want to laugh at the irony of the question, but it bubbled up like a strangled snort. “Nope, not at all. That was the problem or so I was told. I didn’t _do_ enough. I didn’t _say_ enough.” He sing-songed, “I didn’t bring flowers, didn’t buy candy, didn’t have candlelight picnics on the floor. The important shit, according to Justin. That was more important than....”  
  
      “Than what?”  
  
      “Nothing. Forget it.” He shook his head in disgust. “What is it about queers nowadays? They all want to be happy homemakers and live happily after.”  
  
      “Why do think that’s so wrong?”  
  
      “Because it’s all about dick!” _What didn't this guy get?_ “We’re ruled by it, and any fag who says he isn’t should have his queer card taken away.”  
  
      “Contrary to your rather simplistic description and mentality on the subject, Mr. Kinney, there are gays who are in long-term relationships and monogamous. That doesn’t make them any less queer. You said Justin seemed to think flowers and picnics were important. What about you? Why do you equate outward signs of caring with weakness?”  
  
       He gave a noncommittal shrug and sagged into the chair. Enough with the ‘what makes Brian tick’ analysis crap. He’d call Cynthia and let her handle work shit for the rest of the day. Give her a chance to play supreme ruler and earn her astronomical salary. Yeah, who was he kidding? He was tired and drained and needed sleep. Besides, there wasn't anything important on his schedule. Dynamics was in a holding pattern. With the presentation scattered among various departments, he couldn't move forward until he received the final concept.  
  
      “I’m queer, Doc, in case you didn’t know. I fuck and suck whenever and whoever I want. I don’t do lezzy romance. That’s what Justin wanted so he went elsewhere. Didn’t work out for him though, because it was all a lie—the fucking flowers and candy, the god-awful fucking violin music. It was all bullshit and in the end, he wound up getting fucked by the thing he wanted most—romance.” _God, let me out!_  
  
                                                                                                          * * *  
      “Let's get one thing straight,” Warren said in a steely tone. “Justin wasn't fucked by romance. The flowers didn't hurt him. The candy and violin music didn't hurt him and neither did the sentiment. A _person_ did.” He added bluntly, “Just like a person hurt him last night. Don’t confuse the two. And you still haven’t answered my question. Why do you think it’s a weakness to show someone you care? You sure you’re not straight? That’s a typical macho attitude, the whole ‘real men don’t cry’ syndrome.”  
  
      “I don’t have to prove anything, even to Justin. If he doesn’t know by now...I mean, I’m there, aren't I? If I didn’t want to be, I wouldn’t.”  
  
       He couldn't hide his surprise. “So the mere fact that you’re gracing him with your presence should be enough? Do you want him to shine your shoes as well?” he mocked.  
  
      “That’s not what I meant!”  
  
      “Isn’t it? Justin’s supposed to be grateful because you’re just _there_ , because you let him stay at the loft? I’d say that’s a slightly skewed living arrangement. You’re trying to manipulate the situation, Brian, trying to control his responses to your actions by _your_ actions, and I imagine you’re doing a pretty good job of it, considering how much practice you’ve had.”  
  
      “Well, flowers or fucking picnics aren’t going to make me more there! It’s superficial bullshit!”  
  
      “That’s rich, coming from someone who makes a living out of superficiality.” He laced his words with sarcasm. “You have to realize most people aren’t as secure and well-adjusted as you. It’s normal to want to feel appreciated, to feel needed.”  
  
      “Yeah, right, with fucking flowers and candy.”  
  
      “That’s one way, but it’s not everyone’s way, nor should it be. It doesn’t have to be romantic, but I’m also not talking about a lunch time fuck in your office, either.”  
  
       Brian would never be a flowers and candy partner, would never be overly demonstrative. Many men weren’t, but he had to make him understand there were other ways he could show Justin he cared without feeling threatened. “It could be as simple as an unexpected phone call or lunch, or buying a favorite book or bottle of wine. It’s normal everyday shit with a little something extra to let someone know he's more valuable than a piece of furniture. People have to feel as if they matter to each other, otherwise why bother? You might as well be coworkers, and even then, employees like to be patted on the back. It’s human nature.”  
  
       He wracked his brain for a relatable analogy. “It’s like owning a car. You'd care for it, wouldn't you? You’d take it in for tune-ups and maintenance checks. Well, it’s the same premise. Every relationship, and as abhorrent as the word is to you, that's what you have with Justin, needs a tune-up once in a while. Great sex is great sex, and if two people feel they can keep the boundaries only physical, all well and good. However, ” he stared intently, “you don’t stay with someone for four years without developing some feeling for him. I refuse to believe even you are that hard.”  
  
       He strolled to the bookcase and pulled out an oversized book. “No pun intended, but did you read fairytales when you were a kid?” He chuckled at the what-the-fuck look on Brian's face.  
  
      “Yeah, sure I read them and don’t worry, that was too obvious for me to waste my breath.”  
  
      “Ever read Brothers Grimm?”  
  
      “I guess so. Don’t really remember.”  
  
       He replaced the volume and perched on the corner of the desk, arms folded. “One of the stories is _Little Briar Rose_ , better known as Disney's _Sleeping Beauty_. The princess is pricked by a needle, falls into a deep sleep, or as we medical people like to call it, a coma, and can only be wakened by ‘true love’s kiss.’ Potential suitors travel from all over to rescue her, but the castle is surrounded by a hedge of thorns that becomes more impenetrable every year. Their reward for their efforts is an agonizing death when they're impaled on the barbs. I can’t believe that's a kids’ story.”  
  
       He sat in his chair, the cushioned leather a welcome relief from the wood surface, and folded his hands on the desk. “The way I see it, you have a lot in common with the story, _Briar Brian._ Your thorny defenses have become so thick and overgrown you can’t see the scratches and pricks Justin’s received trying to get close to you.”

                                                     _“Your pride has built a wall so strong that I can’t get through.”_ _©Scorpions_

      “You may be able to keep yourself from getting hurt, but at what price? I'd imagine even he has limits.” Once again, the slippery slope between public knowledge and patient confidentiality brought him up short.  
  
      “You don’t strike me as a person who’d shirk from something out of fear. It takes courage to be emotionally intimate. You're saying to someone ‘this is all of me, the good, the bad and the ugly’ and in return, you're asking ‘will you still want me after knowing this or will you not like what you see and leave me’? It’s the worst kind of risk because there are no guarantees. But I’m also not an advocate of changing inside for another person. I don't mean annoying habits like leaving the cap off the toothpaste or putting clothes in the hamper. If you know those things bug the hell out of them, I don't think it's unreasonable to at least try and modify your behavior. Partnership is a two way street. _Both_ people matter.”  
  
       He narrowed his gaze to get his point across. “What I’m talking about is becoming someone completely different. People get together because they are who they are at the time, not who they’ll become. That’s not to say some don’t go into a relationship without trying to change their partner, but that’s a different can of worms. You shouldn't become this ridiculously romantic stranger because you think that’s what Justin wants. You wouldn’t be you. You’d end up hating yourself and him because you’d be living one lie on top of another. What you can do, however, is take baby steps and peel off a layer at a time, like a bad sunburn.”  
  
       The dark circles under Brian's bloodshot eyes told him to end the session. The man looked exhausted. _He can barely stay awake._ “What I'm trying to say is that it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. It can be simply admitting that you’re not comfortable talking about a certain subject. It's not that you won't eventually talk about it, but you can't do it at that moment. At least you’re not locking him out of who you are. You’re telling him that he matters. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”  
  
       He stood and stretched. “You look beat. Let's call it quits for today.”  
  
      “Fine with me!” Brian jumped up and ran his hands through his hair.  
  
      “Your homework is to think about everything we discussed,” he said as they walked to the door. “But before you leave, I want to touch briefly on something we talked about earlier.”  
  
        Brian's shoulders slumped. “What now?”  
  
      “You do have to apologize to Justin, the sooner the better. I know you think sorry’s bullshit, and yeah, some people say the words to make themselves feel better. ‘I said I was sorry. I did my part.’ But there’s a big difference between taking responsibility for your actions that caused someone pain and saying the words. You have to mean it. You have to let the other person know you really regret what you did or said.” His lips twitched. “Call it a non-denominational Act of Contrition. But seriously, when an apology is truly meant, when its motive is honest and not self-serving, it’s worth its weight in gold. When it’s not? I have a feeling you know what that's like.” He paused with his hand on the knob. “I want to see you again, Brian.”  
  
        Hazel eyes glinted. “Why, Warren, I didn’t think I was your type.”  
  
      “Whatever!” He gently shoved him out. Stop by Laura’s desk and make another appointment. No excuses.” The door was halfway closed when his name was called. He poked his head out.  
  
       Brian stood at the hallway entrance. “You're not so bad—for a shrink.”

 

CONTINUE HERE: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/10889871>

 


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